Authors Note: Thankyou for the kind people who left me reviews! Hugs and obergines for all! Now, continuing with my story... please review! I will put messages or whatnot to kind reviewers in the next chapter.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. I'm even borrowing my body from God. I'll have to give it back to him at some point. Some text is taken from Tolkien's books. I don't own this either. You should know which it is.

Note: In chapter one, I described Legolas's hair as golden. This is a continuity error, as I am writing how I see LotR and Legolas has black hair. Also, when I uploaded this chapter originally, I did not realise how much I had left to write of the council into one chapter! I hope this longer, revised chapter is better for those of you who have been complaining about lack of updates (imagine that!) and be assured that a new chapter is always in progress. Thing is, I have my GCSE's to think about, as well as my careers stuff so please bear with me! Thanks.

*............* indicates italics. I can't use html. I'm stupid.

//"..........."\\ indicates Khuzdul.

~Through the Eyes of a Stranger~

Gimli was leaning against a tall balcony overlooking one of the many pretty gardens of Rivendell, trying in vain to look nonchalent, all too aware of the many cold glances given to him by passing Elves. He gave up after about ten minutes, and converted to giving them death-glares of his own. It didn't seem to work, particularly when several Elves went past at once; as they left they would laugh and talk amongst themselves in their own language. Though Gimli didn't understand the words, he suspected that the words were directed at him and they weren't overly friendly.

The young Dwarf sighed; had this been any place else, those Elves would have discovered what it felt like to be knocked over by a Dwarven fist in the stomach, but since this was the House of Elrond, who had aided the Quest of Erebor and thus helped to spare Gimli's family from more years of poverty and hunger, he was trying his hardest to be on his best dignity with all the elves of the House, especially those of obvious standing (such as Elrond himself) but there were times when his pride surfaced highest.

"Um... hello?"

Gimli jerked is head up from where he had been gazing at a sparkling waterfall, admiring how the sunlight glinting off of it looked remarkably like the stars of the sky. There was a stout hobbit standing beside him, with tousled sun-bleached brown hair and a nervous expression.

"Yes?" Gimli queried, "Can I help you?"

"No..." the hobbit shifted nervously, a faint blush creeping up his neck as he glanced awkwardly at his furred feet. "I was wonderin' if I could join you?"

Gimli grinned, and the hobbit relaxed. Many relaxed when flashed with that smile; its lopsided, relaxed expression of cheerfulness made them feel much more comfortable. "Of course you can, Master Hobbit." Gimli moved over a little, and the hobbit joined him, still looking slightly nervous. "No matter what you've heard, I don't eat halflings." Gimli told him in mock- seriousness. The hobbit smiled then, and held out a small hand.

"I'm Samwise... Sam I'm usually known as though."

"Gimli." Gimli held out his own broad rough hand and took Sam's. Sam grimaced slightly at the Dwarf's crushing grip, and Gimli released him.

"I'm pleased to meet you, Mister Gimli." Sam said rather formally.

"Just Gimli, if you please, young Samwise," Gimli chucked, "'Mister' is a bit formal if you understand." Sam opened his mouth to answer, but was interrupted by a loud clear bell. Gandalf's words from last night came back to Gimli with a huge resounding thunk in his head.

*"The Council will begin at the ringing of the bell in the morning."*

The young dwarf turned to Sam, "I must go. It's been a pleasure to meet you." he gave Sam a friendly pat on the back, almost sending the hobbit sprawling on his face, turned and ran. He really did not want to be late with all these Elves around.

Gimli found the Council chamber without too much difficulty -something he took pride in for some time afterwards. Though it was not really a chamber, but a large open porch. The bubbling of a small silver waterfall could be heard amid the talking of birds in the trees nearby. The ground was strewn with red and gold leaves, though the trees still held some of their greenery. His father was already there, along with a tall weatherbeaten ranger, a richly-clad man and seven Elves, with, of course, Elrond himself. Despite his misgivings about the Fair Folk, Gimli liked Elrond. The tall, wise, venerable Elf-Lord was a very likeable character, who you could not help but trust.

Gimli sat down by his father and, noting the suspiscious, sometimes even slightly revolted looks being sent their way by the seven Elves, they began a quiet conversation in Khuzdul.

//"So you found your way?"\\ Gloin inquired.

//"Yes, thank you."\\ was the short reply from his son, //"I met a hobbit, called Samwise. A most agreeable creature he was."\\

//"Aye,"\\ the white-haired Dwarf smiled fondly, //"They are wonderful creatures. Bilbo was not all that keen on adventure, but he made a fine burglar in the end. It seems that the trait runs within the Race."\\

//"It seems so. I'm glad I was able to meet a hobbit at long last. I have passed through the Shire a few times, but only on it's skirts. It seemed a tranquil country. I should like to visit it, I think."\\

//"Even if the land does not live up to your expectations, the food of the hobbits is very tasty; it should fill even your stomach, my lad!"\\

Gimli chuckled. There was a certain tension in the air, as though the whole of Middle-earth, or at least Rivendell, was waiting for something. It felt good to laugh; it broke the tension and made the atmosphere seem much more comfortable. At least, to Gimli it did. It was at that moment that Gandalf, an old hobbit Gimli vaguely recognised as Bilbo from his visit to Erebor a few years ago and the young hobbit Gimli had seen him talking to yesterday. The Wizard and Bilbo sat down, and Elrond stood, drawing the young hobbit to his side.

"Here, my friends, is the hobbit, Frodo son of Drogo. Few have ever come hither through greater peril or on an errand more urgent."

*Cheerful opening words.* Gimli thought to himself, regarding the hobbit with curiosity now. He was looking round at them all with apprehension and a grave expression on his young face. Elrond began pointing out those that Frodo obviously did not know, and Gimli listened also.

"This is Gimli, Gloin's son. He has travelled here with grave news from Erebor." Gimli gave Frodo a small smile, but the hobbit was looking too troubled to notice it. Sympathy for the little creature raged in Gimli's heart. He pushed it down with irritation.

Elrond introduced his counsellors, the chief of whom was Erestor, a tall, dark-haired Elf with a piercing grey gaze and sharp-features. He had a stern look, and it passed Gimli's mind not to get onto the wrong side of this character. He had the look of one who knew much, sometimes too much. Also there was a golden-haired Elf sent by Cirdan of the Havens named Galdor, whose grey gaze was troubled. He had quite a pleasant face, with softer, rounder features than those of Erestor. His mouth curved upwards slightly, even though he had an anxious expression, as one who was accustomed to laughter and song. One of the Elves, a tall, proud, golden- haired creature, was not named. His eyes were bottomless, and he had the air of one whose great powers were wrapped in a thin shroud, ready to be released. Gimli assumed that Frodo knew him already.

The last Elf to be introduced was named as Legolas; he was clad in green and brown, which made him stand out from the other Elves. His hair was like ebony, caught back in intricate braids behind his ears, and beside his chair rested a slender, elegantly crafted long-bow, and a quiver of arrows, bound in gold and silver. Gimli recognised him as the Elf who had been watching him the night before.

Finally, a tall, noble-looking man was introduced. His dark brown hair brushed at the fur-lining of his travel stained cloak. Gimli's eyes lingered first upon the silver collar around the man's throat, and then on the horn that rested upon his knees, tipped and bound in silver. The young Dwarf glanced up, and his large brown eyes met the Man's grey ones for a moment.

"Here," Elrond turned from Frodo, and spoke instead to Gandalf, "is Boromir, a man from the South. he arrived in the grey morning, and he seeks for counsel. I have bidden him be present, for here his questions will be answered."

Of the beginning stories and debates of the Council Gimli remembered little. He listened rather than spoke; he was of a naturally quiet nature when faced with a new situation and strangers. Much was spoken of events in the South, places that Gimli, Dwarf of many journeys though he was, had only heard about in tales.

After a few hours -Gimli lost count of how many- Elrond bade Gloin stand and tell his tale. Gimli had heard much of this; his work in the Lonely Mountain consisted mainly of trade with neighbours and other Dwarven communities, when there was trading to be done, so he had heard much of the rumours and whisperings of the evil stirring in the East. Eventually the whispers had crept, slowly, voice by voice, to the doorstep of the Kingdom Under the Mountain. Then the rumours of Moria, of the old splendour of Khazad-dum had grown louder, until eventually Gimli's old cousin, Balin, had resolved to go there, to resurrect the mighty kingdom. With him had gone Ori, and Gloin's brother Oin, always the more adventurous of the two.

Then, Gloin's tone changed from sad and revering, to fearful and anxious. Gimli listened mainly with half an ear now; he knew of all that his father spoke, the Black Rider's visit to Erebor had disturbed him greatly each time, and he did not wish to hear of it again, and instead watched the faces of the Council members: Elrond looked grave, Frodo scared, though he tried valiantly to hide it, Gandalf worried and careworn, Boromir politely puzzled, and the other Elves, if they were anxious of this new threat, hid it well and instead looked mildly interested.

"You have done well to come," Elrond said eventually, his clear, powerful voice bringing Gimli back to the present. "You will hear today all that you need in order to understand the purposes of the Enemy. There is naught that you can do, other than to resist, with hope or without it. But you do not stand alone. You will learn that your trouble is but part of the trouble of all the western world. The Ring! What shall we do with the Ring, the least of rings, the trifle that Sauron fancies? That is the doom that we must deem."

*Hm, Elven saracasm from the Lord of Rivendell,* mused Gimli, *Or so it seems at least.*

"That is the purpose for which you are called hither." Elrond's voice took on a new tone- this one commanding, one of a warrior and a powerful, noble King of Elves, "Called, I say, though I have not called you to me, strangers from distant lands. You have come, and here we are met, in this very nick of time, by chance as it may seem. Yet it is not so. Believe rather that it is so ordered that we, who sit here, and none others, must now find counsel for the peril of the world.'

'Now, therefore, things shall be openly spoken that have been hidden from all but a few until this day. And first, so that all may understand what is the peril, the Tale of the Ring shall be told from the beginning even to this present. And I will begin that tale, though others shall end it."

Then there was a pause, and the tension in the air became so strained, that it shocked Gimli that it did not break with a sharp twang as of a loosed bow-string. *We, and no others?* he thought to himself. *Maybe. I do not think that I like taking responsibility for the fate of the whole of the world. Hopefully it will not happen to me again.*

Elrond told the story of the Ring for many hours, and Gimli listened attentively. Dwarves were not known for their long-attention spans to any stories but their own, but Gimli found himself fascinated by this unusual tale of grief, war, victory and much else. He barely took his eyes from the fair face of the tall Elven-Lord for the whole time he spoke.

Finally, when the sun had risen high over their heads, he ceased his tale. There was a silence, broken only by the sounds of distant birds singing, unaware of the peril hanging over the world. The silence, however, seemed loud, almost echoing in Gimli's ears; it almost seemed like a sharp, reverberating twang. This was almost beginning to irritate Gimli, even with his rather placid character. The tension was almost becoming unbearable.

Eventually, Boromir broke the silence by standing abruptly. "Give me leave, Master Elrond," he began, and his voice was clear and powerful; obviously that of a man used to commanding others, "first to say more of Gondor, for verily from the land of Gondor I am come." Gimli watched the tall man, strangely entranced by his manner. This man was capable of holding many peoples attention with his voice alone, and Gimli admired him instantly. The Council listened in captivated silence as Boromir's voice became more passionate, as he spoke of Gondor and it's deeds, and the war that had come upon it from the East, especially to Osgiliath. Gimli did not know of Osgiliath, but guessed that it had once been a great city, destroyed by the might of the Enemy. "I was in the company that held the bridge," Boromir continued, "until it was cast down behind us. Four only were saved by swimming: my brother and myself and two others. But still we fight on, holding all the west shores of Anduin; and those who shelter behind us give us praise, if ever they hear our name: much praise but little help. Only from Rohan now will any men ride to us when we call."

Now Boromir's tone changed: it became strangely weary, not so proud nor so passionate. "In this evil hour I have come on an errand over many dangerous leagues to Elrond: a hundred and ten days I have jouneyed all alone. But I do not seek allies in war. The might of Elrond is in wisdom not in weapons, it is said. I come to ask for counsel and the unravelling of hard words. For on the eve of the sudden assault a dream came to my brother in a troubled sleep; and afterwards a like dream came oft to him again, and once to me."

Boromir now sighed, and his shoulders seemed to sag almost. Gimli watched his eyes carefully; the Dwarf had always been rather fascinated with people's eyes, thinking them to be an important window into a person's character and feelings. Right now, Boromir's eyes were slightly glazed, as though he were trying to pull details from a distant memory.

"In that dream I thought the eastern sky grew dark and there was a growing thunder, but in the West a pale light lingered, and out of it I heard a voice, remote but clear, crying:

*Seek for the Sword that was broken: In Imladris it dwells; There shall be counsels taken Stronger than Morgul-spells. There shall be shown a token That Doom is near at hand, For Isildur's Bane shall waken, And the Halfling forth shall stand.*"

Gimli's naturally quick mind began to puzzle over these staves as soon as they were loosed from Boromir's tongue. The Sword that was broken? Imladris was Rivendell, he knew that; counsels were being taken right at this moment, but were they indeed 'stronger than Morgul-spells'? Isildur's Bane, now that Elrond had spoken his story, was quite clearly the Ring, and the Halfling... there were two nearby. The Sword that was Broken was very important obviously, but for the life of him Gimli couldn't figure out why it would be so. What use was a broken weapon after all? Were you to draw it and hope that the Orcs would die of laughter at your folly?

Boromir was speaking again, resuming his proud stance and tone of voice, "Loth was my father to give me leave, and long have I wandered by roads forgotten, seeking the house of Elrond, of which many had heard, but few knew where it lay."

At that, Boromir was interrupted: the tall, weatherbeaten man in the corner, wearing stained and faded clothes stood and came forward, a glint in his eye and a grim smile on his lips. Gimli felt strongly about him immediately, but he did not know whether it was like or dislike. "And here in the house of Elrond more shall be made clear to you," he fixed his eye to Boromir's and Boromir held it for a moment before looking down. The Ranger dropped onto the table a sword, but it was broken just below the hilt, and the rest of the blade was cast beside it. "Here was the Sword that was Broken!" The Ranger drew himself up and his eyes glinted sternly.

"And who are you, and what have you to do with Minas Tirith?" Boromir's face was full of wonder as he gazed at the man again, who stood tall and resolute, the grim smile not leaving his lips, making his short dark beard curve upwards coldly. It was Elrond who spoke next.

"He is Aragorn son of Arathorn," said he, looking at Boromir as though daring him to defy his words, "and he is descended through many fathers from Isildur, Elendil's son of Minas Ithil. He is the Chief of the Dúnedain in the North, and few are now left of that folk." A look of shock mingled, strangely, with horror passed over Boromir's fair face. Gimli was left floundering, shocked and a little lost after the sudden strange turn of events, so that he only caught the last few words of Frodo.

"-and not to me at all!" he exclaimed, on his feet as though a furnace had been lit under his chair, his eyes wide with amazement. But the weather- beaten ranger smiled at him kindly, the corners of his beetle-black eyes twinkling with a strange fondness. It made him look like a venerable lord, and Gimli knew that if he gave a command, it would be followed. For a moment he felt rather small, among all these great lords, warriors, men and elves of such high standing. But the moment passed.

"It has been ordained that you should hold it for a while." Aragorn was saying, laying a comforting hand on Frodo's shoulder, and seating himself again, looking at Elrond.

"Bring out the Ring, Frodo!" said Gandalf, stirring suddenly, and grasping his staff tighter, "The time has come. Hold it up, and then Boromir will understand the remainder of his riddle."

Glóin shifted expectantly in his seat beside Gimli, as were many other council members, craning their necks to look at the hobbit, who stood shifting from foot to foot, nervous under the scrutiny of his fellows. He was trembling ever so slightly, and once more Gimli pitied him as fear flickered in his wide eyes and an embarassed flush crept up his neck. But the dwarf leant forward eagerly like the rest, wanting to see this 'token of doom'. Slowly, almost reluctantly, Frodo pulled out a chain from his tunic, and there, at the end of it, swinging slightly and glinting temptingly in the morning sun, was the Ring.

It was truly beautiful in it's simplicity. A golden band, unadorned and hardly ornate, but it had obviously been carved carefully and with great love. It's simple smoothness and glittering golden surface almost called out to Gimli... *Come, take me... take me, little Naug. Take me, put me on, and all your hopes, wishes, dreams... they will all be yours truly. Take me...*

Gimli shook his head quickly. No. It was evil. Elrond had made that perfectly clear. He did not want such things through evil and foul play. No. It could not tempt him. Gimli sat back.

"Behold Isildur's Bane!"

The other council members had all sat back. Gimli wondered whether they had experienced similar whisperings stirring their hearts and minds as himself. Only Boromir remained leaning forward eagerly, longing immediately evident in his sharp grey eyes.

"The Halfling!" he muttered, his voice trembling with a sudden thrill of fear. "Is then the doom of Minas Tirith come at last? But why then should we seek a broken sword?" He cast a contemtuos glance at the heirloom on the table before Elrond.

"The words were not *the doom of Minas Tirith*," said Aragorn in a scathing tone, "But doom and great deeds are indeed at hand. For the Sword that was Broken is the Sword of Elendil that broke beneath him when he fell. It has been treasured by his heirs when all other heirlooms were lost; for it was spoken of old among us that it should be made again whn the Ring, Isildur's Bane, was found. Now you have seen the sword that you have sought, what would you ask? Do you wish for the House of Elendil to return to the Land of Gondor?"

Gimli was not sure what to think. This man was proud, as proud as Boromir, and was proclaiming to be the lost heir to Isildur, a name Gimli knew only from distant tales about the Second Age. Though his irritation was well- founded, Gimli thought he was being a little sharp with Boromir. After all, the poor man had come only to seek the meaning of a dream, and had been presesented with the fate of the world and a man who was apparently the heir to the throne of half of Middle-earth. Gimli considered Aragorn to be being a little unreasonable.

"I was not sent to beg any boon, but to seek the meaning of a riddle," Boromir answered, pride and his irritation in his voice. Gimli silently cheered him. "Yet we are hard pressed, and the Sword of Elendil would be a help beyond hope- if such a thing could indeed return out of the shadows of the past." It seemed to take much for Boromir to shelve his pride to admit that the return of the King would be an unfathomably joyous event, but he made it plain he still had is doubts about Aragorn's heritage.

At that, Bilbo, despite his old age, sprang to his feet as best he could, and burst out with:

*All that is gold does not glitter Not all those who wander are lost; The old that is strong does not whither, Deep roots are not reached bu the frost. From the ashes a fire shall be woken, A light from the shadows shall spring; Renewed shall be the blade that was broken: The crownless again shall be king.*

Mahal's Beard, thought Gimli, another riddle! Why can these folk not speak in plain terms? He shook his head in perplexity at the strange ways of other folk, then once again, marvelling at how much he sounded like his father. Bilbo told Boromir that he had better listen to his verses, before sitting down with a snort, resembling exactly a grumpy old grandfather. Gimli fought the urge to grin.

Aragorn smiled at Bilbo, then turned to Boromir, with a still cold yet slightly softer look that before. "For my part I forgive your doubt," he told told the younger man. "Little do I resemble the figures of Elendil and Isildur as they stand carven in their majesty in the halls of Denethor. I am but the heir of Isildur, not Isildur himself. I have had a hard life and a long; and the leagues that lie between here and Gondor are but a small part in the count of my journeys. I have crossed many mountains and many rivers, and trodden many plains, even into the far countries of Rhun and Harad where the stars are strange."

Aragorn spoke long then, recounting the loneliness of being a Ranger of the wild, but how the world would be darker and more evil if their constant vigilance did not drive them away. He told how they were scorned by travellers and more ignorant folk, and prejudice of his people. Gimli began to rapidly rethink his quick assesment of the man's behaviour. He did not blame him for his way, having lived such a hard life. Gimli knew how it felt to be doubted and misjudged when you only wanted trust and respect, having lived for the first few years of his life in poverty due to, and his heart stirred in anger at the thought, that Worm Smaug.

"Isildur's Bane is found, you say," murmured Boromir, looking at Aragorn seemingly in a new light, "I have seen a bright ring in the Halfling's Hand; but Isildur perished ere this age of the world began, the ysay. How do the Wise know that this ring is his? And how has it passed down the years, until it was brought hither by so strange a messenger?"

~~~

I have ended this here, because the Council of Elrond in the books is such a long chapter, and I did not want to put it all up on here as one humongous block of text. So I've split it into two smaller, easier to handle chapters. Please leave a review on your way out! ~DtT~